The northern gates fell by noon.
Not from treachery or retreat—
from sheer impact.
Zhou's iron vanguard smashed through the fortress barricades with a sound like bone splitting. Stones shattered, men tumbled from parapets, the first tower fell like a cracked tooth in a giant's jaw. Smoke billowed upward as distress fires ignited along the ridgeline.
From Ling An's walls, the fall of each fortress looked like a star dying.
Wu Jin gripped the balcony rail, watching everything he was meant to protect collapse in a clean, methodical sequence. He could not hear the screams from here, but he imagined them anyway.
"Your Majesty!" a scout cried, collapsing to one knee. "Zhou… Zhou has taken the North Market. Their banners have crossed the river."
Another officer staggered in. "Hei Fort reports heavy losses. The Emperor's armies march through the marshes. The Southern King rides at his side."
Two fronts weren't coming.
They were already here.
Panic rippled through the generals assembled in the hall.
"Withdraw the northern lines—"
"No, reinforce the south—"
"We must surrender the outer districts—"
"We cannot hold both! We cannot—"
Wu Jin slammed the table, and silence rang sharper than the blow.
On the map, the kingdom split like paper under flame. Red markers for Zhou. Black markers for the Emperor. Two jaws closing on Ling An.
Then, all at once, he understood.
This was not misfortune.
Not coincidence.
Not Heaven abandoning them.
This was planned.
His father had placed him here knowing it would collapse.
The war was not an accident.
It was a tool.
A ritual.
Wu Jin felt a coldness he had never known slide along his spine.
He had not been placed on the throne to rule.
He had been placed on the throne to bleed.
Deep beneath the city, the Lord Protector pressed both hands to the tower's core. The stone vibrated in a slow, hungry rhythm. Each northern fortress falling, each southern clash reverberated along the walls of the sanctum like offerings dropped into a bottomless bowl.
He closed his eyes in satisfaction.
"The pattern tightens," he murmured. "Good."
Wu Shuang entered with rigid shoulders, breath sharp, pupils too wide.
"You summoned me."
"You feel it, don't you?" her father asked without turning. "The city humming. The tower waking."
She swallowed. "What am I in this?"
He turned then, gently touching her cheek with fingers colder than stone.
"You are the hinge," he said. "The center point. Without you, the circle collapses."
A violent tremor ran through her pulse — not fear, not anticipation.
Recognition.
Something old and sleeping in her blood turned over.
She stepped back, heart pounding. "And Jin?"
"Jin," the Lord Protector said softly, "will play his part. Everyone will. War is the purest brushstroke a man can make."
She fled before he could say more.
He let her go.
There was nowhere she could run.
In the south, the Emperor's columns trudged through the marsh, golden banners trailing over stagnant water. Ahead, Hei scouts clashed with southern riders, blades flashing.
The Emperor rode calmly through the din, serene, untouched.
"Ling An trembles," he said to the Southern King. "The second bell surely shook the city."
The King bowed low. "Your Majesty, do we… negotiate when we arrive?"
The Emperor's lips curved in a faint smile.
"Kings negotiate. I correct."
The King lowered his head until mud splashed upward. But inside him, dread hardened into something heavier. He was marching under a man who intended to rule more than kingdoms.
He intended to rule the end of kingdoms.
Shen Yue saw the smoke before I did.
"An," she said quietly, "Ling An burns."
I felt the being inside me shift.
Not speaking.
Not whispering.
Just… moving.
A pressure.
A tightening.
A sense of angles turning inward.
Like instinct.
Like hunger.
Like inevitability.
It wanted to go east.
Toward the tower.
Toward my father.
Toward the place it had first seized me.
My pulse stuttered, my fingers tightening on the reins without meaning to.
"Are you alright?" Shen Yue asked softly.
"Yes," I lied.
The truth was stranger:
I wasn't being urged.
I was being aligned.
Liao Yun waited by the dry crossing with riders gathered around him. When he saw me, he saluted sharply.
"My lord. We gathered everyone still loyal."
Behind him, shadows in armor shifted: the Black Tiger battalions — fewer than before, but fierce. Beside them stood the remnants of the Golden Dragon troops, my older brother's men. Their armor was patched, their banners mended, their loyalty unwavering.
One stepped forward, holding a gold-threaded banner.
"For the bloodline," he said. "We march with you."
A knot tightened in my chest.
Shen Yue whispered, "They came because they believe you'll end this. Not because they expect you to save it."
I nodded.
Liao Yun approached, lowering his voice. "These men will follow you even against Wu Jin. Even against the Lord Protector."
"This isn't rebellion," I said softly.
He held my gaze.
"It will be."
A tremor passed through the ground — distant, heavy. The sound of a northern tower collapsing.
Shen Yue looked at me, reading the shift behind my eyes.
"An… the being inside you. It feels stronger."
"It is," I admitted.
"Is it pushing you?"
"No," I said.
"It doesn't need to."
It simply waited, like a blade placed gently in my hand.
Liao Yun raised his banner.
The Black Tigers roared.
The Golden Dragons lifted their blades.
I mounted my horse.
"We ride," I said.
Shen Yue's voice steadied me. "And when we reach Ling An?"
I stared at the bleeding horizon.
"My father plans to use the war as sacrifice," I said. "To open something. To reshape something."
"And Wu Shuang?" she asked.
I swallowed.
"She's the center of it."
"And you?"
I exhaled slowly.
"I'm here to break his ritual."
Another tremor.
Another tower fell.
Another scream in the distance.
The being inside me tightened like a drumskin pulled to the edge of breaking.
Not speaking.
Not commanding.
Just aligning.
I kicked my horse forward.
"Ride," I said.
Dust rose behind us.
Ling An burned ahead.
And the ritual began to take shape.
The bell would ring again.
This time,
the world would answer.